


Please don't say you love me

by jofngve



Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery, Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Break Up, Diana is bad with feelings, Eventual Fluff, F/M, Light Angst, Ugh these kids, jerry is a sweetheart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:20:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22320199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jofngve/pseuds/jofngve
Summary: He says it completely out of the blue. They’re walking somewhere, God knows where. He likes walking around town with her, visiting cafés, parks, ice-cream shops, the movies, the book-store and a weird antique-store he thought she’d like, one time."I love you."Diana almost spills the rest of the mulled-wine in her mug on her new winter boots."Oh. Ok."------------------Jerry tells Diana that he loves her and she promptly panics and jumps out of his car. Or not quite...
Relationships: Diana Barry/Jerry Baynard
Comments: 24
Kudos: 117





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so. This popped into my head and wouldn't leave, so here it is. 
> 
> Recommended listening is the title-inspiration "Please Don't Say You Love Me" from Gabrille Aplin, the song I've been listening to on repeat.

He says it completely out of the blue. They’re walking somewhere, God knows where. He likes walking around town with her, visiting cafés, parks, ice-cream shops, the movies, the book-store and a weird antique-store he thought she’d like, one time.

And if it’s not walking, it’s driving. He’s always driving out of his way to pick her up, from the east side-of town to the city centre, only to drive her safely back home afterwards, and then himself back to the small flat he shares with his sister 20km further west.

Diana can drive just fine, and has a car as well. And when he asks it’s never patronising or anything, just a quick text, “I’ll pick you up?” and Diana always agrees, and he’s always punctual, texting her when he gets going. And sure enough, 30 minutes later, he’s ringing her doorbell, hands in his pockets, grinning down at her.

He was grinning when he said it was well.

He likes offering her his arm when they walk. Very old-school, but she likes placing her hand in the crook of his arm, warm and firm. He’ll adjust his steps to match hers, and it must be difficult with how much longer his legs are. It doesn’t always work-out; but it’s a comfortable stroll, as he moves so that she is the one farthest from the street, on the inside of the sidewalk.

He’ll grin at her, always showing teeth, which he almost never does with anyone except for his huge family. He grins at her, and it’s almost blinding with how sincere it is, how his brown eyes crinkle, warm with affection. They always look as if they know something that she doesn’t. Two quick glances, to the left and right, and he’ll halt for a second, to brush a soft kiss to her cheek. Only to continue walking, pointing at a minuscule change in scenery which he has (of course) noticed and knows the cause of, _Regarde, you know how there used to be that weird insurance broker there? Well, his wife apparently left him to run away to Panama and now he’s started his own woodworking business two streets over. You know, that yellow building with the broken window in the second story-_

It would be mean to call it “stifling”, how much he knows of everyone in town, and how much people know him. Diana likes to revel in anonymity, she doesn’t come back that often, to this suffocating hometown, prefers living in Montreal near her home-turf of McGill. But train tickets are expensive, especially off the island, so long-distance is what it is.

But even long-distance is a weird term for what they are. For what they do? They have sex when she is back home. He is a nice companion to have, both in her bed and in her messages, a nice, simple respite of the faux-intellectuals in Montreal. Diana doesn’t have time for any dumb boys at uni who are just attracted by her dark eyes and petite figure, itching at the opportunity to explain the world to her. They don’t know a single thing about her and she doesn’t care to elucidate them. It’s fun to smile and flutter her eyelashes, and then giggle a scathing remark they are too hollow to understand, but which Anne with laugh loudly at.

He laughs as well when she calls him late at night, telling him about what she said, maybe a bit tipsy from a bit too much gin from one party or another. As she loudly complains, he will tell her to grab a glass of water, _Crois moi, chérie, you’ll thank me tomorrow_.

They know each other, and she likes him quite a bit. He’s kind and solid and easy, and so she almost hates him for what he does to her, what he says when they’re drinking hot mulled wine at the (very small but very cute) Christmas market in Charlottetown. Well, she has mulled wine, Jerry has hot fruit punch because he is, of course, driving her home again. And he doesn’t really drink anyway. But they’re walking from stand to stand and she burns her tongue on the hot drink and pouts at her mug and he says,

“I love you.”

She almost spills the rest of her mug on her new winter boots.

“What?” is her incredibly intelligent answer.

Jerry grins, and pulls out a single, but clean, tissue from his jacket pocket, “You are such a klutz. I love you.”

She stares at him. Stares him right in his face, his (arguably quite handsome) face, which is still smiling down at her. Because he’s always smiling down at her, with his stupid one-meter-ninety-eight frame, and that stupid smile. God, her heart has slipped from her chest and landed on the iced over cobblestone.

“Oh. Ok.”

That's it. That is her ingenious reply.

He grins, and hands her the tissue. She dabs distractedly at her jacket sleeve. Did she even spill anything on there? Doesn’t matter, this is the wanted distraction, the excuse for her not to have to look at his face, his face that must surely have fallen, crumpled with the realisation that she didn’t say it back, HOW THE FUCK IS SHE SUPPOSED TO SAY IT BACK.

But of course she can’t look down forever. When she glances up, he’s still grinning at her, brown eyes reflecting the Christmas lights strung above. Fuck.

“Uh, I need to be home for dinner.”

Jerry checks his watch, “That’s fine, it’s only four thirty now,” he looks at her, concerned, “or are you cold?”

“NO,” Diana answers, and she’s sure she had just shouted that, “just wanted to let you know.”

Jerry nods, “ _Ne t'inquiète pas_ , it hasn’t snowed that much today, the roads should be alright.”

She nods, dumbly, and they continue their way between the stands. Jerry buys a beeswax candle for her, one that will burn down nice and consistently, and she always loves the smell of beeswax. She tries to fend it off, but he’s insistent, _didn’t Anne give you that lantern for your birthday? You can put this in there.._

It’s no use, she can’t act at all, act as if everything’s fine. Her head is spinning. Why did he say it? Why hasn’t he said it before? Why would he say it exactly then? Why would he think that’s a thing you can say?

 _Because he loves you,_ a terrible voice in her head says, and no, she can’t have that, it’ll never work out, FUCK, this is exactly what she had wanted to avoid.

She has lost no word about Jerry to her parents. _He’s_ _just a friend, just here to pick her up. You remember, Mama, Anne’s almost-brother? He’s just driving me._

She knows what will happen if she should properly introduce him. He’ll be wearing what he understands to be a ‘nice’ shirt, and won’t pick up the right fork at dinner, and will talk openly about his work at the mechanics, and it will all end in disaster. Not studying finance or law or economics or politics. That train of thought always haunts her late at night, but she always catches herself before she panics too much. It doesn’t matter after all, they are not dating. Not in a relationship. Not in love.

But apparently that isn’t true.

He drives her home early. She had been distracted and didn’t even have to lie about feeling sick. Her heart had somehow moved to her tongue, pressing heavy at the back of her throat, making her feel as if she would throw-up at any second. Whether that would be the contents of her stomach or the thoughts flitting around her head ( _why the hell would you say that, Jerry, we’re just messing around, just friends, good friends, friends that de-stress with good sex and then lie together, warm, in bed)_ : She wasn’t sure.

“Text me when you’re inside,” he says, as she unbuckles her seat-belt.

She nods, grabs her purse, and moves to open the door, when she feels his hand on hers.

She jumps, and his hand is too warm, burning on her skin, as he softly rubs his thumb over her knuckles.

“ _Je ne voulais pas te mettre mal à l'aise,_ ” he says, softly, in the dark. The light of the nearby streetlight casts a golden glow, but doesn’t illuminate much of his face. In the shadows, she can’t read his expression, “I just wanted to say it.”

And she snaps, enraged, because that is exactly the point! He had wanted to say it, but she did not want to hear it, what she wants is never of any concern, “Well you did! Jerry! For fucks sake, I did not want to hear that! And I don’t want to say it! Why would you think that would _in any way_ be an alright thing to say??”

She is close to tears, but he just looks at her, dumbfounded. His hand is still on hers. “What do you mean? We’ve been together for almost a year, _j’ai cru que_ -“

Her brain feels hot, “What? What do you mean ‘together’?”

“What do I mean? Diana, what are you talking about, we’ve been going out since last January?”

“WHAT?” she pulls her hand away, now well-and-truly burned, “What are you talking about, Jerry, we haven’t been dating.”

He laughs, “Diana, _je ne comprend pas._ What **have** we been doing for the past year?”

“Just! I don’t know, having sex!” Diana shouts, voice shrill, but she can’t help herself. With every word she feels more unsteady. Her stomach is rolling, it feels almost raw, as if she had swallowed sandpaper, “It was just sex, Jerry!"

He laughs again. It doesn’t sound like it usually does. It’s unbelieving, hollow, the sound almost mechanical, “Just sex? Diana? And what was everything _in-between_?”

Diana wants to gesture, but her hands somehow escape her. The flutter nervously between him and her, trying to bridge the gap of understanding somehow, “We’re friends, Jerry, just friends who-“

“-fuck each other?” he spits. The expletive sounds terrible. The understanding seems to have dawned on his face, “So what, all this time I was just convenient? Just available? Just _quelqu'un à baiser?”_

 _“_ Don’t be crude!” she snaps, trying to put herself back together. Her hand finds the candle in her purse, “It doesn’t matter what it was.”

She puts the candle on the dashboard. “It was nice. You can have this back.”

“Diana, what-“

“I’ll see you around,” the car door is open quickly, and shuts-off the sound of him calling out her name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, ok, so this looks bad BUT will definitely turn around. We haven't seen Anne yet. ;)
> 
> Hope you liked it, let me know what you think in the comments!


	2. Chapter 2

Anne comes to knock on her door two days later.

Diana doesn’t really know what she did for those two days. Studied a bit? She had fled from her overbearing mother, blaming a splitting headache and university-course material, to escape the drives into town, the afternoons sipping tea and practicing the piano. As if that were of any help to her in her current state.

She couldn’t get Jerry’s face out of her head, and his confession seemed to echo, again and again, until a constant stream of _iloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyou_ rang in her ears. She had turned to her coursework to tune it out, but that only partly worked. There was a doodle in her economics notes, a crooked flower and his handwriting, _Bon chance!_

“What did you do to Jerry?” Anne asks, breezing past Diana through the door. She’s home alone, and just woke up, still in her PJs. It’s 1pm.

“What?” she asks, delayed, and closes the door. It had gotten much colder out, and grayer too. A thick layer of clouds kept the sky overcast, and Diana would be the last person to complain. It felt fitting somehow, though she couldn’t say exactly why.

Anne turns to face her, scowling, “You know what! He told me he told you that he loved you and you dumped him! You should see the state he’s in!” The fight leaves the redhead a bit, “You don’t look too great either, if I’m honest.”

Diana sighs and walks into the kitchen. It’s spotless as ever, not a crumb out of place. Mary-Jo must have just left. Diana grabs a glass and lets it run full under the tap.

“It’s nothing.”

“Bullshit!” Anne says, moving next to her best friend. She frowns, “What happened, Diana? I thought you two were doing so well!”

Diana puts the glass to the side without drinking and buries her head in hands. Exhaling sharply, she runs them down her cheeks, “I- I thought we both knew what it was.”

She thought she had been clear. What else could it have been? God, if Diana thinks about it a moment longer, she’s sure her heart is going to tip over and spill into her stomach.

Anne moves to rub a hand up and down her friends back, “What what was?”

Diana sighs, and gestures, “Our… arrangement, I don’t know. Just friends-with-benefits!”

“What?” Anne looks baffled, “What are you talking about?”

“That it was just sex! I mean, we aren’t- _weren’t_ dating, so I have no clue why the hell he would say that he loves me.”

Anne looks at the brunette as if she had sprouted a second head, “What?”

Diana scowls, “Can you stop saying that!”

“I don’t know what else to say, Diana!” Anne says, loudly, “What the FUCK? You’ve been dating for almost a year now! Everyone knows it!”

Diana scoffs, “Oh please, we are just friends. Good friends.” She moves across from Anne, “Do you remember how he used to flirt with me in French? When we were, like, 14? It was just fun!”

“Diana, you don’t really believe that! He’s been set on you **since** we were 14!”

Diana scoffs, “Anne, that’s bullshit. I’m sure he’s not the only one he uses his French pick-up lines on.”

Anne rubs her face with both hands and sighs. She looks careworn, haggard, and incredibly done with everything, “Ok,” she says, pressing her lips together, “then why the hell was he so shocked to find out that you two weren’t actually dating. If it was just ‘friends-with-benefits’ as you put it, why the hell would Jerry a)” Anne is counting down on her fingers, “say what he said and b) be as upset as he currently is?”

That’s what Diana didn’t want to have heard. Because it’s not true! It’s not true, and everyone saying something else is.. lying, yeah, lying, that or doesn’t know what they’re talking about. Because Diana knows how Jerry had said _you-know-what_ , he had said it and laughed. It had been a joke! Or a slip of the tongue. Or.. who knows what. At least not anything that serious. Why was she overreacting anyway? Why was it the only thing she was thinking about! Completely irrational.

But Jerry had seemed.. genuinely. Upset? That can’t be the right word for it. But the tone of his voice is still a bitter ring in her ear. _Quelqu'un à baiser_ , he had said, and sounded so disgusted..

Diana grabs her glass and takes a sip, putting-off an answer. She sighs and puts it back on the counter, “Anne, I don’t know. I thought it was clear!” she gestures, at a loss for words, “I mean we never went on dates, we just hung out, and had our fun!” She laughs, but the humour is lacking, “I mean, we would never actually have dated.”

Anne crosses her arms, “What is that supposed to mean?”

Diana crosses her arms. Huddles in on herself, “Come on, Anne.”

Anne blinks, waiting for her to elaborate.

Her friend sighs, “Could you even **imagine** Jerry and I dating? I mean, what would we even do? In this town? Look at cows?”

Anne narrows her eyes, “What the hell, Diana. I know for a fact, that you’ve gone out more than once before. For coffee, and the movies, and I don’t know what else.”

“That was just us being friends! Us two do that.”

“But we don’t have sex, Diana!” Anne shouts, temper flaring, arms waving, “You don’t call me, drunk after parties, to talk to me late into the night!”

“Oh shush, I have done that before.”

Anne sighs, “But I’m pretty sure we talk about different things when you do!”

“Fine,” Diana sighs.

“And what do you mean, I couldn’t imagine you two dating? If that wasn’t what you were doing all along.”

Of course Anne would pick up that topic.

“Come on, Anne, look around.”

Anne recrosses her arms, and her brow furrows, “I see a very clean kitchen and my best friend.”

Diana breathes out, “Anne, seriously. Even if we had been _romantically_ been going out for the past year, it would always end badly.”

Anne looks at the ceiling, “Why, would you think that? Diana, you can’t possibly know that.”

“Except I can!” Diana snaps, temper flaring. God, why does no one understand? “We would date, and he would be sweet, and nice, but. I- It just wouldn’t work!”

“Diana, why-“

“BECAUSE!” She’s proper shouting now, “You know what his family is like! What do you think my mother would have to say to him coming by in his overalls! When he slips into speaking fucking Chiac!”

“Diana, come on,” Anne moves to grab her hands, trying to comfort, “trust me, I know your parents. I remember the drama when you didn’t go to France for university? But this is different, if you love Jerry back-“

Diana rips her hands from her friend, “This isn’t like that! God, Anne, don’t say that!”

Over the whole conversation, Anne had seemed miffed, confused, (annoyed), a bit dumbstruck. Now she looks angry, “Diana, what the ever-loving fuck!” She clenches her hands, “You string Jerry along for the better half of a fucking year, and you’re, what, fucking ashamed of him? You are so full of yourself sometimes!”

Diana feels her face grow hot, blushing in anger, “ **I’m** full of myself?”

“Yeah, you really are sometimes,” Anne crosses her arms, “I mean, are you really just worried that your parents wouldn’t approve? Or are you just fucking ashamed!”

“What the hell am I supposed to be ashamed of?” Diana says, trying to regain some sort of posture.

“Nothing, but you still don't want to willingly be seen with him!”

The nausea rushes into her stomach and she doesn’t know why. It’s not true, “That’s not true,” Diana stutters, and God, her voice sounds wet, “I don’t- . I’m not -.” She has to interrupt herself to be able to swallow the lump in her throat, “I’m not fucking ashamed, but I mean. We’re so different.”

Anne looks worried, opens her mouth to say something, but Diana doesn’t want to hear it, “I mean. You remember how horrible it was introducing you to my parents? And I mean, we were like 12! What if I bring him home and my parents just completely tear him to shreds? He’s too-“ she hiccups, “too fucking **good** for that, Anne!”

Unshed tears are already burning in the corners of her eyes. Fuck.

“And even if! Even if, I just say _Fuck them,_ and I’ll be back at McGill, I just,” Diana breathes, stuttering, “I just, I know he won’t be happy.”

Anne looks taken aback, eyes darting from Diana’s clenched hands, to the tears now definitely rolling down her face, “Hey, hey, Diana, shh, what?”

Diana can’t stand this. It feels like a bitter acid has bubbled to the top of her stomach and is now rushing,akin to heartburn, up her throat and out into the open. The anger has evaporated, replaced only by this choking desperation and the tears just won’t stop. _Thank God you look pretty when you cry,_ she can hear her mother’s voice somewhere in the back of her head. She drops herself onto one of the kitchen barstools at the counter. She doesn’t think anyone besides her friends has ever sat there.

“I don’t want to stay here!” she breathes, and God the truth burns, “In this goddamn town, where everyone knows I’m just dumb, spoiled Diana Barry!” Her voice is cracking and broken and sour and she is sure she isn’t pretty anymore, not with this bitter truth spilling from her lips. “And he would never move away from here! He might as well be as rooted as the fucking Snow Queen outside Green Gables!” she almost shouts, if her voice wasn’t as wobbly.

Anne is standing in front of her. Shellshocked. Eyes wide. And she doesn’t say anything, thank God, she doesn’t say anything. Her best friend just, steps forward, and wraps her arms around Diana, presses her face into her shoulder, so that Diana can feel how the red hair is tickling her forehead.

“I just,” she hiccups, “I mean. I always liked him. Like that.” She’s sure she’s soaking Anne’s sweater with salt-water, “I don’t know, I thought he was cute, the way he always said I was pretty. It was dumb.”

Anne moves away and takes the seat next to her, back to rubbing up and down her back soothingly, “It’s not dumb.”

The tears start back up again, “But it is! I mean, I always thought he was kinda joking, or at least not serious. And then, I don’t know, he let loose another one of his dumb compliments, and I just. Kissed him.” Her face grows hot at the memory, “More than kissed him.”

“Last January?”

Diana nods.

“And you’ve just been sleeping together since then?” Anne asks, carefully side-eying her friend. (She knows the answer, but won’t tell her that.)

“I don’t know Anne, yeah,” Diana squirms and tries to somehow regain control of her voice.

Anne is shushing her almost, hand warm and soft on her back, “Just sex?”

Diana sighs, “We text a lot, I guess? He asks about my day, and I tell him.”

“Don’t you always text him pictures of squirrels?”

Diana almost laughs, “Yeah, you know how he used to have these chubby cheeks? That’s why. And everyone always feeds the squirrels on campus, so they’re freaking everywhere.”

“Hmm.”

Anne get’s up and moves over to the kettle. Fills it with water, and turns it on. Then she starts rummaging for the tea.

Diana stays on the stool. It’s convenient to just lean back and not think too much. She hates fighting with Anne, it’s draining and exhausting.

It’s not as bad bickering with Jerry. That’s always kind of fun. It’ll go back and forth, her snipping something and him rolling his eyes, until she says something so perfectly cutting and concise that he stops whatever he’s doing, to stare at her. And laugh. He’ll laugh, at her, but not viciously. He’ll laugh at what she said, say something along the lines of _I can’t believe you_ and lean over to kiss her. More than one round of… fun had started that way.

And they always had been a **lot** of fun. She can’t really remember with whom else she had laughed that much in bed before. Not that she’d had that much experience with it all. But there had been a few tries at it. She had dated a Fred Wright for a bit, a dreadfully dull finance major, who had been very mechanical about the whole process, and not even especially good. Jerry would grin and kiss her, with the right amount of sweetness and the right amount of heat, until the later grows too strong and Diana is gasping at his talented mouth to ‘get too it already, jesus christ’. ‘Patience is a virtue,’ was the answer she’d get most of the time, and another laugh when she slapped the closest appendage of his she could reach.

But that had been it then. She’d text him to come over during the break when her parents were out, and hush him out the door after.

‘I kinda feel like just a booty-call,’ he had grinned sometime in March, pulling his jeans up over his tractor-printed boxers. They had been a gag-gift from Diana, for Valentines. She had almost refused him when she had unzipped his pants and seen the offending garment.

‘Oh shush,’ Diana had waved him off. If she had been paying closer attention she might have seen the smidge of uncomfortable doubt in the crease of his eyebrows. She pulls her sweater over her head and checks the time. ‘Hmm, we could order pizza if you want?’

‘You know, we’re kinda doing this in the wrong order,’ Jerry says when they’re both on the couch, 30 minutes later. They’re not really paying attention to the Friends marathon they had started on Netflix. Diana had graciously permitted Jerry’s pizza order, if she got to choose the entertainment. Who the hell likes pineapple on pizza? Disgusting.

‘What do you mean?’ Diana gracefully holds her napkin under her slice. Pepperoni. Classic.

‘Well,’ Jerry rearranges the pineapple on his pizza to guarantee an even distribution, ‘I don’t know about you, but this fulfils my definition of Netflix and Chill.’ He wiggles his eyebrows.

Diana groans, ‘You are the worst!’ But she has to laugh.

She always has to laugh.

Diana lets her gaze sweep over the kitchen. She spends as little time here as possible. Not just in the kitchen, but at home? It’s weird. She’s not really sure if she could find the mugs that Anne is currently pulling out of some cupboard. She knows where they are in Jerry’s kitchen; above the sink, second shelf from the bottom. ‘Diana, take what you need, _d’accord?_ _Tu es plus que bienvenus ici,_ ’ Jerry mother had tutted at her and handed Diana a mug, and her husband had immediately joined his wife, ‘ _Exactement_ , don’t be shy, eh?’ and had rubbed her shoulder, winking at her. She doesn’t think her father hasn’t winked at her in… ever.

Anne puts a mug of tea in front of her. The steam is soft and warm in her face, earl grey wafting up at her.

Anne sits next to her, blowing into her own mug. “Should I be honest with you?” she asks and considers her friend out of the corner of her eye.

Diana looks at the steam rising up from the dark liquid. It curls and turns, and looks so soft to the touch, “Yes, I guess so?”

“You’re being an idiot.”

Of all the things, Diana isn’t expecting that, “What?”

Anne sighs, and turns to face her best friend. Sometimes she is so oblivious, it’s almost cute. Almost.

“Diana,” she sighs, and grabs her hands. Squeezes them tight, “Listen to me.” She looks into her friends dark, red-stained eyes, “What are you worried about?”

Diana frowns, furrows deep on her forehead. “What?” she asks, worried and unsure. She’s not sure she can answer any question logically anymore. It feels as if someone has gathered all the emotion out of her, pulling threads until they were all tangled, and then attempted to somehow shove them all back into her hollow chest cavity, leaving her confused, and nauseous and scared.

“What are you worried about?” Anne repeats, emphasising the _worried_ , “If you didn’t have to care. About your parents. About staying here, on the island. About any of the dumb surrounding junk,” Anne seems to be almost pleading, “If you just had to honestly say if you’re in love or not. What would you say?”

Diana's head spins. She thinks of the past year. Of Jerry. Late-night texting, and his warm smile, and the letter he had sent her before her summer exams with wishes of good luck, coy glances, his mouth hot on her neck, calloused palms against her soft ones, him giving some barista her coffee order without having to check. She had made him that handkerchief, read the book he recommended, thought she might make him a scarf for Christmas (but only ironically, not because he had always started coughing terribly from November onward).

The tears come again, but this time they aren’t as bitter.

“Anne,” Diana breathes, “God, I think I fucked up.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so this will be a three-chapter-affair, I didn't want to cut the interactions any shorter. Even so, I hope I didn't rush through any of the scenes. It's always completely un-betaed which isn't always the best solution.. 
> 
> I love reading all your comments, so let me know what you think. ๑ ❛ ᴗ ❛ ๑
> 
> (Psssssssst, if anyone wants to know about my Spotify playlist for these two, it's over here: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1AXjvc8UZuqDfl7oC92acd )


	3. Chapter 3

Diana drives over in a bit of a rush. Not that she normally religiously follows traffic laws, but she doesn’t speed unnecessarily, and always sets her turn signal and stops the appropriate time at every stop sign. This drive.. wasn’t exactly that.

It took a while to reach the west side of town. The roads were relatively clear, but black ice is a bitch and no amount of all-wheel will save you if your rear axle decides to abandon you halfway in the curve. When driving her back late at night, Jerry would tease her on the empty roads, pulling up the handbrake and relishing her shrieks when they would drift across the packed snow surface. She’d curse him with even more creative insults than usual as he would shift down a gear, and pull back into the right lane, giggling all the while.

The houses start thinning out a bit getting into the industrial district. If that was even what it could be called. It was basically just the space in Charlottetown for all the grocery store outlets, hardware stores, and various trades-offices. Electricians, masons, carpenters, and the mechanics Jerry worked at: the main reason he had moved in with his sister. Sandie had a position at the local electrician, Joe Gagnon, who was the brother of Hank Gagnon, the guy who ran the largest garage in Charlottetown. Even though she was just one year older than Jerry, she filled the textbook definition of pushy, protective big sister quite well. And as such, she had immediately praised her little brother to the high heavens to both Gagnon brothers to get Jerry an apprenticeship straight after high school. Which had worked, much to Sandie’s satisfaction. And not only had the position worked out, but Hank had offered them the lease of the small apartment above the garage. It seemed the two brothers had had their start there, but with both of their entrepreneurial successes and growing families demanding own houses, the living space had stayed empty. Until a second pair of siblings moved in.

Diana parks out in the front yard, yanking up the handbrake with a quick pull, grabs her purse and hops out. She tries very hard not to let the sound of the car door falling shut make her think of any other, previous, car-related event. She fails.

“Ah! Diana!” she is immediately greeted as she comes in through the garage’s side door. “How’s it goin’?” Hank asks, jotting something down on the notebook he had been writing in and ambles over. Hank is built like a Mack truck, tall and broad, stuck in dark blue coveralls that not only accommodate his large frame but his beer gut as well. He moves to offer Diana his hand, but pulls it back, grinning, wiggling his oil-smeared hands.

It’s incredibly friendly given the fact that Diana had only spoken to the man once or twice. She had come to pick Jerry up once, the only time she had been able to convince him that _she could drive herself fine, thank you very much,_ and had promptly almost been ambushed on the parking lot by Hank. The mechanic had had very deliberately clean hands, had shaken hers and she could have sworn more than a few pairs of eyes were peeking out of the garage (purposefully indifferent). Jerry had come down from the apartment above the garage, interrupting his boss halfway through his prattling conversational skills. _Diana, it is so nice to be able to put a face to the name, we all were thinking Jerry was being very creative with his day-dreaming but he hasn’t lied, that he really has a very pretty girlfrie-_

Diana smiles at the man’s hand and give hims a nod, “Pretty good, thank you,” she’s sure her voice sounds falsely cheery, “and yourself?”

“Can’t complain,” Hand smiles and gestures over his shoulder, “But I’m guessing you’re here to make interestin’ conversation with someone else.”

Diana grimaces, “Yes, is Jerry in the back?”

Hank nods, “Yup, head on through,” he leans in conspiratorially, lowering his voice, “I do hope you free him from his misery. Don’t know what he went and did to have you send him to the dog house, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so bummed out since the Islanders lost in the playoffs.”

He winks at her, and his grin isn’t the most encouraging thing.

She kinda knows the way through the garage, a guy with a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouthwordlessly points her through a door when she seems a bit lost. She finds Jerry in a smaller side-garage, under a car. It’s a larger truck, jacked up, and missing one wheel. The radio is running and it’s really weird, watching his legs stick out from under someone’s car. She can imagine it’s anyone under that car, but then a hand sneaks out to grab a (wrench?) only to disappear under the car again. And Diana can’t imagine anymore because she knows that hand, knows the shape of the palm, the length of the fingers, the callouses that won’t ever fade, what it feels like in hers, and fuck, this is the worst.

Diana clears her throat and feels incredibly prim. Shit.

“Jerry?”

She hears a faint _putain,_ and Jerry’s knees bend, feet shuffling to skitter out from under the car. His eyes widen when he sees her.

“Hi,” she says, a bit breathless, and God seeing him is a bit hard after her a-bit-delayed emotional revelation, “Do you have a minute?”

He nods at her, numbly, and moves to get up, and now she’s looking up at him instead of down. “What’s,” he clears his throat as well, rubs his hands together and sticks them into the back pockets of his overalls, “What’s up?”

Diana doesn’t know what exactly to do with her hands. She opts for pulling off her wool gloves. That way she can look down as well, not having to meet his eyes just yet, not having to know what exactly she’ll see in them, “I was wondering, if we could maybe talk.”

Jerry nods again, remaining oddly expressionless, but eyes still wide, and moves to switch off the radio on the workbench.

“We can,” he throws the tools he had been using into the toolbox that had been sitting next to them on the floor, closes it and and hefts it up, “We can go upstairs, I’ll just ask Hank super quick.” He glances at the clock. 15:37. “I was going to finish up soon anyway.”

Diana nods, and fiddles with her gloves. Her purse is too small to stuff them in there without having the latch not close, is she just going to hold on to them the whole time, that would be-

“You can wait upstairs if you want to?” Jerry asks, and starts rummaging in one of his front-pockets. She looks up at him, his face too serious, “You don’t have to wait in here.” He hands her the keys and she tries not to read too much into the fact that he hands them over without brushing her fingers.

Waiting upstairs is almost a relief, a chance for Diana to get her fucking head in the game. God, why is it so hard to tell someone you love them? To tell them you love them back? To tell them you love them back, after breaking things off because you were only with them for the sex.

Fuck, she’s going to throw up at this rate.

She wants to pace but decides to just sit on the sofa. There aren’t that many other options anyway. The kitchen and living room are all one large shared space, with the doors for the two bedrooms and the bathroom splitting off next to the kitchen. There’s a bookshelf which kinda creates a barrier between the kitchen and the living room, filled with books and board games and knick-knacks. The sofas are old and worn, but soft and covered in the same funky-patterned covering as the matching armchair. One time Anne, Cole, Ruby and Gilbert had come over for monopoly and she had conquered that chair. Jerry had laughed at how she sat in that chair far too regally for the matching apartment, curtsied at her the whole evening, _votre altesse_.

Diana jumps as the door suddenly opens, ripping her out of her thoughts, and Jerry steps in, brushing his shoes on the matt out front and proceeding to slip off his boots. He places them next to Diana’s. She stands up from the sofa, fuck, she hadn’t had time to prepare any words to give him, but he gives a short wave, “I’m going to get changed really quick.” He gestures at the bathroom door in explanation and Diana nods.

“Of course.” It comes out a bit strangled, but she braves a smile, “Take your time.”

He nods, and disappears in his room, comes out with a bundle of clothes, and locks the bathroom door behind him.

Diana sits back down on the couch. Ok. Second chance. What on earth are you going to say? _I’ll just tell him the truth,_ the bravest voice in her head suggests but it’s almost laughable.

The truth? That _Yes,_ _I didn’t really think we were dating but, like, in retrospect, not that bad of an idea?_ She can’t go a step further than that, that would be too much, that would be admitting her fucking, pathetic truth, _Yeah, so I was so afraid of my parents judging you, and thereby me, that I convinced myself that I didn’t love you back, because I thought that if I did, I would just be setting myself up for the disappointment of you finding someone else, someone better-_

Fuck.

She shouldn’t have thought it out like that. Phrased it out like that. This has gotten way too serious, way too fast.

Was that what she had been thinking? A cold hole has somehow materialised in her chest- was that why the friends-with-benefits approach to everything was such a no-brainer?

 _You can’t loose him if he isn’t yours to loose,_ the voice in her head seems to provide apologetically.

God. The hole seems to be growing. She can’t start crying on Jerry’s couch if she’s the one who doesn’t deserve to be fucking crying. **She** had been the bitch, and if he sees her crying he will feel terrible andhe will be the one to comfort her, because, fuck, he’s too goddamn good for this world and way too fucking good for her.

 _Maybe you set him free?_

Maybe this way he will find someone as good as him, as kindhearted as him, not someone like her. Who only pretends, for everyone, her parents, friends, teachers. For herself. Because as much as she tries, her heart is never as open, as kind as Anne’s.

But, she has to tell him. Then he can decide that for himself, but he has to know that- that she loves him too.

The bathroom door opens softly, and Diana is immediately on her feet. God, he looks so soft. As much as Diana likes him in work-clothes (somehow she just has a thing for those coveralls, and how he often pulls down the top part, tying the sleeves together at the front, revealing toned arms and broad shoulders) this is almost better. Jerry’s changed into grey sweatpants, and his t-shirt is soft and faded, the logo on the front barely recognisable. _How the fuck did you not know you were in love this this dork, jesus CHRIST!_

“Do you want some tea?” he asks and steps behind the kitchen counter, already taking two mugs out of a cupboard.

“Yes, thank you,” Diana says, quietly. She doesn’t want to sit down on one of the stools on the other side of the kitchen counter, it seems weird, the distance suddenly almost unbearable, and she steps into the alcove next to him. He was filling the kettle and when he turns to put it on its base, he startles when he almost brushes past her. She tries a smile but he just blinks at her, busying himself with picking out tea, “Is rooibos alright?”

“Sure,” Diana leans a bit away, her back against the fridge, eying the tea box, “I hope that’s not Sandie’s stash, though. I’d hate to get on her bad side.”

Jerry sighs, and when she looks at him like this, she can see what Anne was talking about. The low afternoon light is giving its best and brightest through the kitchen window, and she can see how he’s frowning, eyebrows pulled together worriedly, mouth a downturned line, jaw tight. He sighs, and brushes a hand through his damp hair. It’s getting longer in the back again, curling softly against his neck and around his ears. He turns and she can see how dark the bags under his eyes are. He doesn’t look great. He looks tired.

“Why are you here, Diana?” he asks, carefully. “What did you want to talk about?”

Everything seems to settle, and Diana thinks she knows what she wants to say.

She tries a shaky inhale, “I, I just wanted to talk about what I said on Tuesday.”

“Mm,” Jerry hums, and rips open the two tea bags, letting them drop in the mugs. He wraps the end with the string with the tag around the mug-handles.

Saying you’re going to say something is much more difficult than actually saying it.

“I was just surprised, and I- I reacted poorly,” she hears herself saying. Was she still on script?

The kettle is getting louder, a constant rushing, rising in pitch. Jerry is still fiddling with the tea tags. Diana doesn’t know if this would be easier if he would just look at her.

“I just, I’m sorry for what I said,” Diana says the voice coming out in a rush, quickly loosing her nerve, “I didn’t mean to say it like that, I-”

“But you **did** mean to say it.” Jerry interrupts her. He looks up and his eyes are dark, and he’s never looked at her like that, “You didn’t mean to say it _like that_ but you meant every word anyway.”

He shakes his head, frowning, and turns back to the kettle. As if the cracked white plastic would offer some sort of solace.

“Jerry, no, I-”

“It’s fine, Diana,” he says, quiet, but he’s moved to lean against the counter, grabbing the edge with one hand. The knuckles on that hand are white.

“No, no I-” Diana needs to gather herself or she’s going to blurt out the exact wrong thing again. Fucking christ, why is the barring of your soul and the resulting associated emotional vulnerability so fucking difficult, “I never wanted to hurt you Jerry, I- I didn’t mean it.”

Jerry stiffens, “Why though, Diana?” he looks up at her, and his voice is strained, “why did you say it? Or, why did you _not_ say it. Why did you not tell me that that was all everything was to you. Just sex?”

The cold hole seems to be making a reappearance in Diana’s chest, “It. It wasn’t. And I-I don’t know. I thought you knew. But it doesn’t matter, I-“

“Doesn’t matter?” Jerry interrupts.

Diana shakes her head, fast, she can feel the swishing of her hair. He’s not understanding what she wants to say, “I didn’t mean that, I just mean. Can we just forget about this?”

“Forget it?” Jerry says, shellshocked. His eyes dart around the kitchen and he laughs. He laughs, and it sounds raw, rough around the edges, almost like the barking of a scared dog. He pushes off the edge of the counter and fully stands in front of her, close and impossibly far away, “Do you just. Want to forget that I.” The words seem to catch in his throat, and Diana can see how he swallows, “ _T_ ’ _veux_ just _oublier que j’t’ai dit que_ I love you _?”_ he chokes out in a jumble.

The rushing noise of the kettle is getting louder.

Realisation seems to dawn on his face, and he takes a step back again, “Is that why you came over? To apologise and just get back at it again?”

The cold has spread up Diana’s throat. “No!” she can hear herself say, almost like an echo, “no, of course not, I just-”

“Is it just for your conscience, Diana?” Jerry never shouts, but his voice is loud now, “Well, you can cross it off your to-do list, but I-. I- I’m done.”

The kettle clicks off, and it somehow flips a switch. The man she’s in love with slumps, suddenly exhausted. He runs a hand through his hair, and Diana is rooted to the spot.

He breathes, leaning against the counter, hunched over, arms crossed, “I just, I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can. Go back to how things were.”

Diana wrings her hands, “I don’t want that either, Jerry,” she exhales shakily, “I just wanted to come over to tell you.. to tell you that- just so you know that..”

“ _Ben là,_ Diana, just spit it out,” Jerry sighs, and turns to pour the slightly cooled water into the mugs.

“That I love you too!” Diana shouts. It echos a bit.

Jerry stares. The water spills a bit, and he pulls the kettle back with a jerk and a quiet ‘fuck’. He keeps staring. And swallows.

“What?”

“I just,” she continues, looking down at her socks, “I was scared. I didn’t think you’d want to date me.”

Jerry splutters, “Diana, what? Why-”

She shakes her head, “Let me finish. I want to- to get this out.”

Jerry’s teeth clack as he closes his mouth.

“I was kinda crushing on you through 11th and 12th,” Diana breathes out, too hard to be a sigh, “You were cute and funny and kept giving me dumb compliments. I thought it was sweet, and then you got tall and handsome, and then I thought it was.. more than sweet.”

It’s weird standing across from him, so she moves so she’s leaning against the counter next to him. They’re not quite touching, but the warmth radiates off him anyway. She can smell the pine-scent of his shampoo.

“So then, at Ruby’s party, you were there, and you said something dumb and flirty, and I had had.. some- liquid courage, so I kissed you.”

“I couldn’t really believe that, you know,” she can hear Jerry say, impossibly soft, “I was so. Shocked.”

Diana laughs, lightly, “Oh shush.”

“No, really,” his voice sounds serious, “I don’t even think I kissed you back properly. I think I was on complete autopilot until I got home.”

There’s a rustle and Diana is sure is she glances over he’ll be looking at her, “I was so over the moon. It was dumb of me to assume that it meant we were.. together.”

“No,” Diana shakes her head, “no, of course not. I was- entitled, I think, I just made it what I wanted it to be. Nothing else really made sense.”

“Why?”

Diana has to laugh, but there’s no humour in it, “Jerry, come on.”

“I’m serious,” Jerry frowns and moves to stand in front of her, and she looks up. God, he’s using the puppy dog eyes, that’s just plain unfair.

“I am too!” She says, crossing her arms.

“Come on, why?”

“I don’t know,” Diana says. She’s said what she had wanted to. This probing is oddly reminiscent to the monologue she had had with herself earlier. “You wouldn’t have been happy. With it. With me. God, I don’t know.”

“Diana, what? That is- that’s nonsense,” Jerry asks, frown deepening, “Why would you think that?”

Because,” it bursts out of her, “don’t you think I know how completely fucked up my family is? How fucked up I am?” Her voice is wobbling. For fucks sake.

“What?” Jerry looks genuinely distressed now, and ever so gently reaches out to take her hand, “Why would you think that? What would ever make you think that?”

Diana swallows. This is exactly what she didn’t want to happen. Everything just, word-vomitting out of her, as if normal human emotion were like a fucking emetic. And Jerry’s holding her hand, soft and kind, as if she’s something fucking precious and she can’t take this anymore. But. But it’s not his fault.

She gently pulls her hand out of his grip, “I just. Jerry, you deserve someone. Better. Nicer.” She laughs, hollow, “More _emotionally available_ , to put it in Anne’s words.” Jerry opens his mouth, but Diana shushes him again. Here goes all or nothing, “I don’t know, I just always thought I was like, the convenient option. And I was being selfish.” She crosses her arms tighter, “I thought, it would be nice to just, have you a little bit. You’re going to stay here, and I never want to come back, and- I thought I could just have you before some nice, pretty girl snatches you up.”

The kitchen feels stuffed, filled with this truth, cotton thick and suffocating.

“So,” Diana swallows, “when you said you- you loved me, I panicked. I thought I had tricked you somehow, that you didn’t really know what I wanted but were trying to give it to me anyway. And I didn’t even realise that I loved you until today.” God, she’s the worst, “I mean,” her voice sounds wet again, “how fucking- repressed do you have to be to not know stuff like this? And now I just know that I love you, so much it feels like I’m,” she swallows, “choking sometimes.”

Jerry gently, slowly, lifts his arm, moves it open up his left side, the side Diana is standing next to, and she just. Just let’s all the air in her lungs escape in an extended exhale and leans against him. He hugs her with the arm he had raised, a warm brace holding her against his chest, and she has the smell of his t-shirt in her nose and everything seems to- to melt out of her, the lump dissolving, and the acid cold disappearing out of her stomach, dripping out onto the linoleum kitchen floor. She is the thickest person alive.

“I,” Diana says and her voice is a bit muffled, “ _je t’aime aussi._ ” She can feel how he inhales, holding his breath. _“_ If you still want me,” she amends quietly, her heart just squeezing slightly in her chest.

The arm lifts off from around her shoulders, and the cold wants to seep back into her, when Jerry takes her hand again. He presses a kiss to the back of it, looks at her, and lifts it, until she is cradling his cheek, his hand over hers.

“I don’t think you know how long I’ve been yours,” he says, voice low, and Diana feels incredibly dizzy. Dizzy with relief, and giddiness, and love, God, it’s fucking love, she should’ve known better, should’ve known that this quiet, snarky, thoughtful, kind dork would make her fall head over heels. The buzzing grows impossibly louder, and she has to lean up, move her other hand to the side of his face, stroking once, gentlyacross his cheek and lean up to kiss him. It’s soft, and they’ve kissed like this before, but as the weird buzzing morphs into a sort of soft hum, it is the largest, earth-moving difference Diana could imagine.

“Do you just want to drink tea on the couch?” Jerry asks as they break apart, eyes soft again, looking at Diana as if she were God-knows-what.

“I’d love to.”

The evening is spent quietly, both still thoughtful, until the tea is empty and Jerry starts confessing, about schoolyard crushes, and terrible pubescent dreams, and embarrassing conversations he will never forget but which Diana can hardly remember. And wishes and hopes and shame and worthlessness and truths spoken like rational facts.

They’re wrapped up in each other as it’s almost midnight, but Diana will sleep over anyway. For now, it’s nice to sit on the couch, her legs in his lap, her head on his shoulder, and his arm around her.

And Diana feels warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who read about minor league hockey for this chapter! This gal! (Go Charlottetown Islanders!) 
> 
> aaah so there it is! Hope it's a satisfying ending to the cliffhanger I left you all off with last time. ;-) This fic definitely ran away with me a little bit, but rushing things felt a bit weird. So it's become a bit of a monster... 
> 
> Let me know what you think in the comments! I think I'm going to write a few more shorter fics in this 'universe'. I really think these two characters would have had so much potential and were … abandoned? Who knows, but I’m not done with them yet!


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